Hunter of Hunters
by CoGDork
Summary: After his mother's murder at the hands of a zealot and an angry mob, a young child learns of his heritage. But does blood define a person, or does the person define their blood? An entirely original Skyrim-era story! Rated T for dark themes and violence.
1. Prologue

**A/N:****_Welcome to my newest fic! Skyrim is one of those games that will NEVER get old, and a recent play-through I did gave me a few ideas that I couldn't shake. NOTE: This will NOT involve the Companions storyline, nor any in-game plot. It takes place in the same timeline and region, but the focus is on this original story. That said, sit back and enjoy!_**

_**I do not own Skyrim or the Elder Scrolls Franchise. Wish I did, though.**_

* * *

_I leave this book as my final testament, the last statement of my past and my identity before I pass from this world to the next. At least, that is the primary intent; I am certain that this tome will be examined and studied for many an age after I quit my mortal life by scholars, mages, and of course, people of faith. Sadly, I must disappoint all of those who search this book for answers to the many questions that would compel them to seek it out and read its contents, as even I have struggled to put into words and proper context that which I have learned. I do not claim to possess great wisdom—only a unique perspective. Thus, the only way that I can currently conceive of to properly pass on my knowledge and the lessons I have learned to future generations is to place it in the form of an autobiographical novel. With any luck, it may just provide the enlightenment for which those who read this book are searching._

_~Fenras, Hunter of Hunters_

* * *

**4e 201**

The child was different, and not in a good way. On that, everyone in Rorikstead agreed.

Fenras was the son of Greta, a local Nord woman who practically wandered into town with the babe cradled in her arms years ago; she never spoke of where she came from, nor did she ever name the father. She rarely spoke to the other villagers, either; outside of tending the fields alongside the rest of the village, she spent most of her time inside her house with Fenras. At first, this self-chosen isolation garnered pity from her neighbors; "Perhaps," they would say, "her husband died a sad death, and her grief keeps her indoors." Others suggested a less tasteful origin for the boy; a child of rape whom the mother grew to love in spite of the horrors of the act that bore him. Whatever the reasons, however, this pity was met only with continued silence and distance, and eventually pity was replaced by annoyance at this strange woman's social reticence.

It didn't help that, as mentioned before, her child was a strange one. From the moment the babe could walk, he had a temper fierce as a beast; when angry, he would bite and scratch. At other times, he would be seen sneaking up on random villagers and surprising them from behind—which would not be too alien a pastime for a child, if not for the fact that there was no playful laughter upon a successful jump scare. No, the boy would smile, then frown, then look puzzled—as if he himself did not know why he had done such a thing. And then the boy would simply wander away without a word.

The livestock in the village seemed rather wary of the child as well; whenever little Fenras went out to play, the goats, chickens, and cattle would quietly edge away from him as he passed, or huddle in tight groups... almost as if they sensed a predator in their midst. In addition to all of this, Fenras had a rather frail physique for the first few years of his life. It was clear that the boy was being fed regularly, but for whatever reason food, regardless of what it was or how it was cooked, seemed to pass right through him. Then, Greta began to purchase meat from the village store at a regular pace... but rarely was smoke ever seen coming from the chimney on such days. From that point on, Fenras was no longer frail and sickly.

The boy was strange, indeed, and strangeness in a small, isolated town such as Rorikstead was hardly acceptable. Even so, this would not have come to anything aside from the odd nervous glare from his peers... if not for one fateful day, shortly after Fenras turned eight.

"Mama, who was daddy?"

Greta looked down at the wide hazel eyes looking up at her through the bangs of scruffy black hair. This was a question that had come up plenty of times before. In her defense, she honestly didn't know—at least, not at the time that it happened. As the years went by and Fenras grew, however, she grew to suspect the identity of the man who practically swept her off her feet, then vanished without a trace.

"I told you, little one. He was a hunter. He slew a sabrecat that attacked me, and we fell in love." _Or perhaps _I_ did,_ she thought.

Little Fenras tilted his head confusedly, as he always did when asking questions. "But where is he? Is he hunting?"

The little face frowned at her silence; fortunately, she knew the best way to distract him.

"Hush now, Fenras. Here, eat your breakfast and you can go play."

Placing a plate of raw meat on the table, she smiled at the wide grin on his face as he ate. After having a quick bite of bread for herself, Greta took her son's hand and walked out of the house into the daylight. As she let go of Fenras' hand and began walking toward the general store, she noticed the absence of her neighbors' stares—a strange thing, as those stares were practically a daily ritual. Looking around, her eyes eventually landed on a crowd of the villagers surrounding a young Imperial man wearing the robes of a Vigilant of Stendarr. The Vigilants were held in high regard throughout Skyrim; defenders of the people from the threat of the daedra and their wicked followers, pious men for whom faith itself was their armor.

At least, that was how the rest of Skyrim saw them.

Vigilant Fastus was of rather average height and build, with light brown eyes, auburn hair, and a slight stubble on his chin that seemed somewhat out of place on such youthful, fair skin. Fastus had first introduced himself to the village less than a year ago, having just finished taking his vows and begun his wanderings, intent on doing the will of his God. Rorikstead had suffered greatly in recent days, with growing rumors of vampire activity in the province leading up to an attack by an actual vampire that threatened to slaughter the town; without hesitation, Fastus slew the dark creature, earning the adoration of the village in the process. Since that time, Fastus had become a regular fixture in Rorikstead, giving regular lectures and sermons to the townsfolk. In this last aspect, the villagers agreed, he was knowledgeable beyond his years. What often began as a simple conversation in the streets would quickly turned into a lengthy discourse on the evils of the daedra, and the need to combat their dark worshipers wherever possible, and today was no different.

"...and so, my good villagers, you need not be a Vigilant to practice vigilance. Indeed, you must be ever-watchful, for the foul worship of daedra can be found anywhere, even in the most unlikely of places."

"What sort of madness would drive anyone to worship monsters, Vigilant Fastus?"

The Vigilant smiled. "Ah, an excellent question, my good man! Depending on the Prince in question, there could be any number of reasons. Ambition—the desire for power is tempting to any wicked man or woman, and they often care not for where they attain it. Wrath—Princes such as Dagon and Malacath often draw the attention of those seeking vengeance on their enemies, and that can drive people to darker and darker deeds. But the foulest motive, in my mind, is lust."

Gasps arose from the crowd; Fastus was quick to raise his hands to settle them down, though.

"I only speak truth, good people. There are, indeed, those who even LIE with summoned daedra—and it has even been documented, though rare, that a Prince himself might mate with a worshiper, producing an abomination known as a demiprince—"

More gasps.

"No, I fear I am not exaggerating. Demiprinces are rare indeed, but they exist; you may know them by strange and alien behavior, and by the frightened response of animals to their unnatural presence, among other signs."

That sentence hung in the air, leaving an uncomfortable silence. For, as fate had it, little Fenras was wandering alongside a fence, the goats on the other side quickly rushing to the opposite side of their pen to escape from him. Greta had just made her way to the boy and taken his hand, hoping to guide him away from the gaze of the crowd before they noticed anything unusual. All too late.

"Hey, Greta, you never did tell us who the kid's father was."

She froze. Her blood froze. "None of your business, Mralki."

Another voice spoke up. "Hey, did you see those goats? They've always been afraid of the kid..."

And another. "The boy bit my little girl one time. Sissel still has the scar..."

And another. "You don't think..."

"Who was the father, Greta?"

"You know something!"

"Brat was always weird—"

Pretty soon the whole crowd was shouting over each other. Suddenly, Fastus raised a hand, silencing the mob with a commanding tone.

"ENOUGH! Clearly, Stendarr himself guided me to this village. From what you all have said, it is rather obvious—this woman is no less than a fornicator and a witch, and her whelp an abomination upon Nirn."

Greta took Fenras by the arm and tried to flee, only for the mob to charge and surround them. Her worst fears were confirmed by Fastus' next words, delivered with eerie calm.

"Prepare a fire. We shall send her back to her master."

Her cries went unheeded as they dragged her and Fenras away; her child was screaming for her, but the bonds they tied around her wrists as they lashed her to a log prevented her from holding him, the gag in her mouth muffling whatever pleas for mercy she could think of.

Her final thoughts as the flames began to rise were for her little boy, screaming for his mother at the top of his lungs as he struggled against his own restraints, the next intended victim.

As her muffled cries filled the air, Fastus turned to the terrified and traumatized child, raising his torch in preparation for the next burning. "In the name of the Eight Divines, I purge the world of your filth."

In that instant, Fenras felt a rage grow within him. With a sudden burst of strength beyond his size, he pulled with all his might, tearing the ropes holding him to his pyre and leaped at the Vigilant, eliciting a startled shout from the man as the torch was dropped. Fenras hardly knew what he was doing; something else had taken over, and with a shriek of rage he bit into the Imperial's forearm, tearing a chunk of flesh from the man before running.

He didn't look back. He couldn't. He still didn't know what he was doing. All he knew was that he had to run.

And so the boy ran, and ran, and ran, until he could run no longer. He had just enough time to look back at the pillar of smoke in the far distance before exhaustion took him and he passed from consciousness.

* * *

**[Awaken, pup. You are not safe in the open.]**

Fenras came to in a start; the voice faded from his memory as a dream, leaving only a vague urge to stand and start moving. Looking around, he saw that it was still dark, though the faintest traces of sunrise gave him a sense of foreboding. He did not know why; for all that had happened, he was still merely a child of eight, the burning of his mother and the hateful shouts of the villagers fresh in his mind.

**[Stand and move. South. Safety awaits there. They will not have stopped looking for you yet.]**

The boy did not consciously hear the mysterious voice, nor would he have understood the meaning of "South". All he knew was that he had to run, that there was danger nearby, that he had to go in a specific direction as if something was pulling him towards an unknown destination—and that the destination in question would be safe. Scrambling to his feet, he wiped the tears from his eyes and began obeying the strange urge that grew stronger with each footfall; when torches appeared in the distance, accompanied by angry shouts, he began to pick up the pace.

**[The cave. Enter it, pup.]**

As the shouts faded into the distance and the first rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon, Fenras ignored the fear of darkness and ventured into the mouth of the cavern. To his surprise, there was light coming from within after a brief trek through the stony halls; his surprise turned into wonder as he approached the light to find a thickly-wooded hollow within the cave, the walls of stone surrounding it reaching towards the open sky to hide it from the outside world—a natural sanctuary from civilization. Wandering around, he spied a small pond fed by a waterfall; he had not known it before, but he suddenly felt thirsty. In spite of that thirst, however, he hesitated—was the water safe to drink?

**[Drink, pup. The water is clean.]**

Heeding the mysterious feelings, he dropped to his knees beside the pool and lowered his head to the water's surface; he stared for a moment, wondering how to drink without a cup to hold it until another strange feeling told him what to do. Slowly, he stuck his tongue into the clear water and began lapping it up as an animal would, his pace quickening as he became used to this method of drinking. Soon he had drunk his fill and sat back, looking up at the sky; all of a sudden, his memories of what had transpired returned, along with the terror and grief... and before he knew it, he was wailing as a babe, the tears beyond his control.

He was startled out of his fit by movement in the nearby brush; turning around, he saw a large number of wolves approaching cautiously—an entire pack. Fenras reeled back in fear, crying out; the larger wolves flinched at the sound, but did not attack. Indeed, their reaction seemed more along the lines of pity, as if they saw nothing more than a lost and frightened wolf pup—though an odd element of minor reverence was also present. The pack parted as a large she-wolf emerged carrying a still-bleeding rabbit corpse, her visible nipples and the pups following her indicating motherhood; the wolf slowly approached the frightened child, nuzzling him to calm his fears. To his shock, he seemed to understand the gesture almost as a form of speech, as clear as if actual words were spoken—though the voice was not that of the one that led him there, instead carrying the sensation of a parent soothing her child:

_Little princeling—you need not fear us. I will protect you; the pack will protect you._

Tears still in his eyes, little Fenras wrapped his arms around the wolf's neck and nuzzled back, his cries slowly subsiding to sniffles. Before long, he had calmed down almost entirely, and the she-wolf responded by dropping the corpse in front of him, communicating once again with a huff and a nudge:

_Eat, little princeling. Live. Survive._

A hunger came over him; with no hesitation, he bit into the corpse, tearing its skin and eating its raw meat, blood dripping from his mouth as he did so. Soon, the rabbit was little more than bones with a few scraps of fur and tendons remaining; a yawn escaped him. The wolves surrounded him, pressing against his sides as the pups snuggled up to him as well. He couldn't have kept his eyes open a minute longer, and soon he was fast asleep.

He dreamed of a strange, almost ghostly form that seemed familiar somehow, but he would not remember it.

* * *

**Four months later**

_Wake, little princeling._

Opening his eyes and yawning, Fenras sat up, the comforting feel of the pack-mother's fur against his nude skin nearly lulling him back to sleep before she nudged him again; obeying, he rose to all fours, sitting much as a wolf would with his hands between his feet. Something felt different.

_It is time for you to leave us, little princeling; leave the cave but remain at the entrance. Another will come for you; do not fear._

In spite of his time among them, little Fenras did not feel fear at the communication, though a slight pang of sadness went through him as the pack left into the bush. He obeyed his pack-mother's final command, crawling on all fours towards the mouth of the cave and sitting on the grass outside the mouth, waiting patiently; he did not have to wait long, however.

"Hm? Well, hello there, little _ja'ma._***** What are you doing out here all alone?"

A khajiit in hunting gear approached from the road, putting his bow away and kneeling in front of him with a concerned expression; a small twinge of fear passed through Fenras before he recalled the pack-mother's reassurance. Slowly, he opened his mouth and began to speak, his voice cracking slightly from disuse.

"Wh-who... are... you?"

A smile from the stranger. "This one is known as J'Darro. What is your name?"

"F-Fen...ras. Fenras..."

"And where are your parents?"

The boy stopped, looking down sadly. He struggled not to cry.

"...Oh. This one sees," said J'Darro, clearly understanding the meaning of the prolonged silence. "Do not fear. Take J'Darro's hand—poor _ja'ma, _you must be so cold without clothes. This one will care for you from now on."

Hesitating for a brief moment, Fenras took the Khajiit's hand and stood on two legs for the first time in months. J'Darro led him through the woods to a small camp with a tent, a campfire, and hunting supplies; several deer skins hung from a tanning rack as well.

"Sit in the tent and cover yourself in the bedroll, _Ja'Fenras; _this one will make some clothes from the skins that you may wear until he can find proper clothing for you."

Fenras did not understand why this stranger appeared when he did, nor did he know how his pack-mother knew of his arrival. Only one thing mattered at the moment—he knew he was safe. He would be safe with J'Darro, safer even than with the pack.

* * *

*** _I looked up an online fan dictionary of Ta'agra (the Khajiit language) to add a little more authenticity to J'Darro's dialogue. Here's a translation of one of the terms I used:_**

_**Ja'Ma—made from two words: "Ja'", which means "young", and "ma", which means child. I made up this compound word from those two; in essence, J'Darro was calling Fenras "little one".**_

_**Ja'Fenras—Obviously, "young Fenras". I couldn't have him not use the main character's name, could I?**_

_**Now, I'm well aware that, at least to my knowledge, the Vigilants of Stendarr have never burned anyone at the stake, but Fastus is not your average Vigilant; also, J'Darro finding Fenras was no coincidence—but you'll have to wait until a later chapter for an explanation. In any case, as this chapter has made clear, this is going to be a fairly dark fic compared to my other stuff. Read and review!**_


	2. PART 1-1: The Hunters

**A/N:****_This chapter features the first of three timeskips I have planned over the course of this fic, though the last one will serve mostly as an epilogue of sorts. Before we get to the time skip in this chapter, though, let's take a brief look at our villain:_**

* * *

**4e 201, ten days after the burning in Rorikstead**

"Cowards. Faithless cowards, the lot of them."

Vigilant Fastus grumbled angrily to himself as he made his way down the road toward the Hall of the Vigilants; the letter he received recalling him to the Hall to "explain his actions" still infuriated him.

_Worrisome reports. _

_Needless violence without trial._

_Inciting unrest._

Those charges in the letter were infuriating enough; it was the last one that angered him so.

_Conduct unbecoming._

The Vigilants were tasked with combating daedra and daedra worship; in his mind, that was all he had done. That filthy whore and the abomination that she had shot out of her wretched womb needed to be purged! Why should he be in trouble with the order for doing what must be done?

"Bah! 'Conduct unbecoming,' indeed!"

He shouted and kicked a stone on the path. _From where I am standing, it is the rest of the order that behaves unbecoming! Faithless cowards who lack the will to do what must be... done..._

The smell of smoke and a hint of dead bodies that wafted into his nose distracted him from his thoughts as he grew closer to the Hall. Rushing to investigate, he found the hall in flames, bodies of his fellow vigilants all around. Examining the scene, he noticed that one body in particular had been nailed to the door by his hands and feet and left to burn with the Hall; upon approaching the body, it came to life. Not dead yet, apparently...

"F-Fastus..."

In spite of the horrific wounds disfiguring the man's face, Fastus immediately recognized Master Vienn, the head of the order. "Master Vienn, what happened here?"

The man struggled to speak through the agony. "V... Vol... Volkihar... Clan. Vampires. Th-they c-came in f... in force... killed everyone else... made me watch... Please, Fastus... get me down from here... my wounds... they could s-still be... h-healed... the vampires were... determined to let me live... long enough... to burn..."

Fastus began to move to take the man down when a strange thought stopped him.

"Everyone else?"

"Y-yes..."

A long pause. Slowly, Fastus stepped backwards, looking at the flames that slowly began approaching the door.

"F-Fastus...?" A look of horror and betrayal crossed Vienn's face.

The Imperial vigilant smiled back, but said nothing; turning around, he slowly walked away into the night.

"Fastus!"

No response came. Fastus did not look back—not even as the horrific screams of Master Vienn pierced the darkness. Only one thought passed through his head:

_Judgment has been passed. _

One day, he would return and rebuild the order anew, this time ensuring that it would follow the proper path. But that would have to wait; for the moment, there was still the chance that the vampires responsible would be searching for remaining Vigilants, and Fastus was determined not to be a casualty.

* * *

**4e 205**

In the four years he had spent with J'Darro, Fenras had grown accustomed to the hunter's life; that being said, there was one aspect that he severely disliked.

"Ugh... I _hate_ Markarth. I hate cities..."

"Would you prefer to wait outside where the livestock and farmlands are, _Ja'Fenras?"_

The twelve-year-old shook his head and sighed as he patted his horse's neck. "No, Master J'Darro... it was hard enough to get this stubborn girl not to go crazy every time I approached."

"Good. This one knows you prefer the wild places still; even so, to trade meats and furs requires that we enter cities. J'Darro will visit the butcher stall and find some meat for your supper if you stop complaining."

Fenras nodded. J'Darro had quickly learned about his whole "raw meat only" diet and allowed Fenras to eat a small amount of their kills from hunting; unfortunately, in times when fewer game was to be had, the amount left for him was slim enough that they had to purchase meats from towns and cities. Fenras didn't like the salt used to preserve the meats long enough for him to get the chance to eat them out of sight of civilization—he knew better than to let the world see that part of him, though he still didn't understand what that part of him truly was—but it was better than starving.

As they approached the large stone gates, the guards stopped them for inspection; Fenras hated this almost as much as the cold stone and lack of trees and plant life that Markarth had. Dismounting and handing over his shortsword and bow—both gifts from J'Darro, who had trained him in their use—he grumbled and stroked his hand through his bangs, briefly fiddling with his ponytail to straighten it out before opening his tunic's pockets and the money pouch on his belt, displaying their contents to the guards. The guards then slowly inspected the cart carrying their goods; once the inspection was complete, he followed his master through the gate and into the city proper.

People kept saying Skyrim had changed since the end of the Civil War, but Fenras paid so little attention to that mess that he could not have cared less about sides, nor did he care to think much on which side won—truthfully, he and J'Darro spent so much time hunting in the wilderness that he often forgot which side was which. And from what he could see, the city had not changed one bit since the first time he had visited shortly before the whole dragon crisis, which happened not long after... that night.

He still had nightmares about it from time to time, though the terror they inspired more commonly turned to anger upon waking. Which only made it worse when he recalled that the Vigilants—who were responsible for it all—had been dead for years; he would never have the revenge he craved every time he awoke from the flames and shrieks. It was mostly J'Darro who helped him work things out, something he was infinitely grateful for—the man was almost a father to him, though he never used the term. It somehow wouldn't have felt right to do so, but he didn't know why.

"Why couldn't we have gone to Whiterun instead? At least there those Companion fellows are nice to me..."

"The markets there are flooded with furs and meats this time of year, _Ja'Fenras. _We wouldn't be able to get much profit from it."

As he helped to unload the cart and set up at an empty market stall, Fenras looked around at the people filling the square; they were nice enough here, but not in the way the Companions were. And as much as he admired the latter, they still spent most of their time in the city—a place he somehow knew he didn't belong.

"You bitch! How dare you talk back to me!"

The shout pierced the calm; Fenras turned to see a large, pot-bellied man strike a frail-looking woman to the ground. A familiar urge came upon Fenras as he reached for his sword—

"Stop," J'Darro said, placing his hand over the hilt of Fenras' sword. "Let the guards handle it."

"Why? That bastard needs to be taught—"

"Because of what happened last time."

That stopped the boy; a year prior, they had been in Riften when a similar incident occurred. Fenras had moved to intervene, but a strange urge came over him and soon he had tossed his sword aside and began tearing with his fingers and even trying to bite the man; a change of coins turned the guards' attention away, but they left the city in a hurry and did not return for some time.

To Fenras' relief, the guards did indeed intervene on the woman's behalf, taking the man to spend some time in jail—though he knew that would hardly be the end of things.

_He was a weak coward. Weak cowards only bother attacking those physically weaker than them, but quickly submit to those strong enough to challenge them—a true hunter would never act in such a way. He wouldn't last five seconds in the wild..._

Something about the thought that had just passed through his head seemed odd; what did hunting have to do with this? His mind always seemed to try to compare nearly every aspect of life to hunting, or some other element of life in the wilderness, even things that seemingly had nothing to do with either subject. Sometimes at night, when the moons were visible, he felt like he might know something of why he was the way he was, why he felt and acted and thought as he did; indeed, there were times that he felt like his master knew more about that than he himself did.

As the day passed by and the customers began to dwindle, Fenras and J'Darro began to put everything back in their cart for the journey back to their secluded base camp.

_Those urges have been getting stronger lately; maybe it's time I ask Master J'Darro about it..._

* * *

Fenras was in the sanctuary again. The sky was a strange color, and the moons blood red; he was once again naked, just as he was when Master J'Darro found him, and the pack surrounded him. Strangely, they seemed to be bowing, but was it to him, or to someone else?

**They bow to me, pup.**

He turned to see... something. It was difficult to describe, and only seemed to partially exist; he couldn't even decide what it looked like. Sometimes it seemed like a stag, sometimes like a bear, sometimes a wolf, sometimes a rabbit, sometimes a man with glowing eyes covered in deerskin rags with an antlered skull for a helmet... and sometimes, it seemed as it if were all of the above, all at the same time. Fenras should have felt afraid; he could tell that this thing, whatever it was, was powerful beyond belief and not of this world. And yet, something seemed familiar about it...

**I am familiar to you because you are a part of me.**

"You... can you read my mind?"

**It would be more accurate to say that your thoughts and mine are connected by your very nature.**

"Who are you?"

**You know the answer to that, pup.**

Fenras stopped, trying to think. Did he know?

**You do. Say it.**

The answer finally came to him. "You... you're Hircine. The Daedric Prince of the Hunt. Lord of the wild, master of predator and prey."

**But what else am I? You know the answer to that as well, pup.**

His heart caught in his throat; it was not emotion or shock, but something else that stopped him, and he didn't quite know what... but he did indeed know the answer.

"...You're my father."

**Indeed, though not necessarily in the mortal sense.** The thing smiled at him; it was both comforting and unsettling at the same time. **You are a piece of me, part of my power given physical form and independent thought by my will.**

"But... but why? What about my mother?"

**I chose your mother because she was strong enough to bear my power, to hold a piece of my essence within her mortal frame. You are but a part of my greatness; you will know your role in it one day.**

"My role? What does that mean?"

**You will know it one day... but not now. I appear to you now because you must know what you are to grow beyond your current strength and fulfill your destiny. Look around you, at the pack. Did you not wonder that they called you 'princeling'? That they knew to care for you? I am more than just the Lord of All Hunters; I am also the embodiment of nature and the wild, and as such all wild things are my subjects. The predators of the world see you as kin to me, and thus show you respect; and by doing so, they show respect to me, who you are a piece of.**

Fenras paused. That somehow made sense; he didn't know how he understood, but he did. "So... what exactly does that have to do with me getting stronger?"

**Your current guardian was necessary to teach you certain things, but soon you will be tested as never before. And should you survive the test, you must return to the wild for a time with what you have learned.**

"Wait, what test? And what do you mean, 'should I survive'?"

**The strong live. The weak die. Be strong, pup—prove your worthiness as part of me. Awake!**

* * *

"WAIT, STOP! I STILL HAVE QUESTIONS!"

He was no longer in the sanctuary; instead, he was in the tent, sitting up in shock. Looking around, he saw J'Darro looking at him with an unreadable expression.

"So," the khajiit said, "This one's Lord spoke to you at last."

Fenras could not speak. A long silence passed.

"This one has much to explain, _Ja'Fenras..."_

* * *

_**It seems my ear infection is no obstacle to writing; hopefully this stream of inspiration keeps up. Read and review!**_


	3. PART 1-2: The Hunt

**A/N:****_I went back and expanded some of the first chapter with regards to the villagers and Fastus to better explain why they turned on Fenras and Greta so quickly (Thanks to Sapphire Basil over on Spacebattles for his excellent suggestions! They helped a lot); feel free to look back over it, but nothing really changed that would influence the story going forward, so it's totally optional to do so. Last but not least, a warning to animal lovers: this chapter will have some slight graphic elements to it—I did my best to keep it from getting outright cruel or gory, though._**

* * *

"This one has much to explain, _Ja'Fenras."_

Fenras stared in confusion at J'Darro for a few moments before the pieces clicked into place. "...Master J'Darro... what is it that you know about me, and how long have you known?"

The Khajiit hunter sighed, gazing out of the tent and into the dancing flames of the campfire. "Truthfully, this one knew nothing until the night before he found you," he replied. "This one has long worshipped Hircine, but never did he believe that the Lord of All Hunters would... speak to him. Though 'speak' is perhaps not the proper word. Like you, J'Darro had a dream; in that dream, he was hunting when he saw a giant stag of pure white that sometimes seemed to be a wolf. There were words in this one's head that yet seemed to come from the stag, saying that I must travel along the road between Markarth and Whiterun until I reached a certain cave. It did not say why."

In spite of his shock, Fenras found that he couldn't come up with anything to say; after a while, J'Darro continued.

"When this one found you, he did not at first connect you with the vision; as this one slowly learned of your... differences, he began to sense that there was something about you connected to Hircine. This one still does not know what you are, or what that connection might be—only that you are somehow both blessed and cursed by the Lord of All Hunters."

"Master J'Darro, Hircine told me—"

"His words were for you, and you alone. This one knows all he must of you," J'Darro interrupted with a wave of his hand before looking Fenras in the eye. "_Ja'Fenras_ is this one's apprentice."

A silence passed between them.

"M-Master... what else do you know about Hircine? I want to know more about him."

_And maybe find out more about myself in the process,_ thought Fenras.

J'Darro smiled warmly. "J'Darro shall gladly tell you all he knows. Hircine... as far as Daedric Princes go, He is one of the more complex. As such, many people believe Him to be evil... but they merely misunderstand that complexity.

"Hircine is not merely the embodiment of the Hunt—He is also the embodiment of nature and the wild. Nature can be cruel and unforgiving, yes; but nature can also be generous and kind to those who show it the proper respect. It is both chaotic—always changing, with all living creatures in its realm in an endless and often ruthless competition for survival—and orderly, with the chaos always somehow leading to a certain stability as the vast web of life finds balance through that competition. There is only one element of it that remains constant, whether it is chaotic or orderly, cruel or kind: above all else, it is fair and impartial, for it neither grants aid to those already strong enough to survive—their natural advantage is the only advantage they may have—nor does it preclude the smallest chance for even the lowest and weakest of creatures to find some way to thrive. As all of this pertains to nature, so does it pertain to Hircine who embodies nature. Neither truly good, nor truly evil—but always fair."

Fenras looked down at his hands, then out the open tent at the moons; he still could not entirely wrap his head around so complicated a concept... but he felt that a small part of him understood. And now he had a better idea of what that part was.

He returned his gaze to J'Darro, eager to learn more. "What about werecreatures? Aren't they supposed to be violent and dangerous?"

"This one is not a werecreature, so this one cannot truly explain what it is to be one. But tell me this: J'Darro carries a bow and a sword, just as you do. This one is capable of violence and danger, no? What about you, _Ja'Fenras_? And yet, neither of us actively _desire _to be violent toward others without reason; so it is with werecreatures. They are simply men turned to animal form... but even when they lack their reason, they behave no differently than any animal. Whatever violence they carry out is without malice or wicked intent—and rumor has it there are even ways to retain one's mind when transformed, though this one is not exactly willing to test that."

Both chuckled at the last comment as another silence passed.

"...So what happens now? Where do we go from here?"

"Who says anything must change yet, _Ja'Fenras? _Whatever task or labor Hircine has for you, it will come in its own time. Until then, this one shall continue to watch over and protect you. Now rest while you can—we have more goods to sell, and the earlier we wake the sooner we arrive in Dragon Bridge."

* * *

The road between Markarth and Solitude—with Dragon Bridge not far from the latter—was built along what was until recently a very dangerous route; narrow ravines sandwiched between high mountains comprised much of the Southern half, which gradually transitioned into thick forests and rocky hills full of caves as one traveled North. In short, it was terrain perfectly suited for ambushes, and between the Civil war, the Dragon Crisis, the Vampirism Plagues and the Forsworn uprising all happening at roughly the same time there was enough chaos to allow bandits to operate with near-epidemic levels of activity. As such, every merchant in Skyrim thanked whatever gods they prayed to that those crises all ended by the second year, either due to the emergence of a hero or (as was more commonly believed) the sheer grit and determination of Skyrim's citizens to take back their home—Dragons, Vampires and Forsworn be damned. That being said, there was never truly any way to prevent every threat along such a road, even during relative peace with regular patrols; in the end, all agreed that the best way to take the route—assuming no other choice was available, and you didn't have an entire caravan with you—was to simply display your weapons in plain sight, appear as wary and dangerous as possible, and hope that any ambush in waiting decided you were too big a risk to attack.

A Khajiit, a 12-year-old boy, a jittery old nag, and a cart full of furs would hardly have given anyone such an impression.

"Stop right there! Your money or your life!"

Thankfully, most lone highwaymen were stupid.

J'Darro and Fenras turned to look at the rather dirty-looking Redguard stepping out from behind a rocky outcropping, a simple iron dagger of crude make in one hand; a noble Alik'r warrior of Hammerfell this was not.

"This one has little time for humor; we have business in Dragon Bridge and you would be wise to stand aside."

The thug's confused grunt rather reminded Fenras of a particularly slow boar.

"Master J'Darro means you either get out of the way or get an arrow shot up your arse."

"Tch," the Khajiit said with a finger-wag. "children should not use such language!"

"Fine. Up his rump, then."

The highwayman had lost patience at that point, shouting a battle cry and charging with his knife raised to kill; he barely made it a meter before an arrow from J'Darro struck his leg, sending him face-first into the ground, howling in pain as the knife clattered out of his reach.

Fenras looked upon the man; something in him swelled, an urge he did not understand until he caught himself staring at the man's throat. It did not take long for him to interpret the urge:

_Wounded prey. Finish it off._

The boy forced himself to look away, though the urge lingered for a moment.

"Master, I... let's just go."

J'Darro looked at him with a tired expression. "Though a bounty would aid us, we have no place in the cart for a prisoner. Nor can we risk him following us only to murder us in our tent while we sleep."

"I know, but..." Fenras could not bring himself to tell J'Darro why he absolutely could not look at the man, whether alive or as a corpse. Fortunately, the Khajiit in question read his body language well enough to guess at the reason.

"...You fear yourself and what you might do," J'Darro said, finishing the unspoken part of Fenras' sentence with a sad look. "Very well. Come, _Ja'Fenras,_ we have wares to sell; this one will be glad to see a town guard. The scoundrel will likely perish, whether from rot, bleeding, or the simple consequences of being alone and wounded in the woods."

Fenras flinched slightly at how quickly his mind focused on the last item on that list; as much as he wished to know more of his own nature, he did not wish to lose himself to it.

* * *

By sunset, they had arrived close enough to their destination that the lights from the minor city were easily visible; patrols were frequent enough at this distance from town that not even a stupid bandit would bother attempting anything, so the pair began to make camp in preparation for their arrival in the morning. Over the years, they had quickly learned that Fenras struggled to adjust to staying at an inn; the lack of solid ground beneath him as he slept and the closed walls of the rooms that most inns and taverns offered were enough of a problem that it had been decided long ago that they would make camp just outside the limits of a populated destination rather than risk any difficulties resulting from a lack of sleep. This also had the benefit of allowing Fenras a chance to eat raw meat freshly hunted without having to worry about the eyes of onlookers. It was in this environment that Fenras felt most at home; now he knew why, and in spite of what had happened on the road he found himself feeling more at peace as soon as he spotted a lone goat in the fading light. With J'Darro already having caught his own meal, Fenras was free to take this one for himself; he did his best to ignore the building saliva in his mouth and the growling of his stomach as he nocked an arrow drew back the bowstring, unconsciously baring his teeth as he did so. With a twang, the arrow zipped through the air and caught the goat in its flank just above the right front leg, causing it to topple over; Fenras felt a brief pang of annoyance at his still-imperfect aim, knowing he had been lucky to hit the goat at all. As he moved for his sword to put the thing out of its misery quickly, however, an urge grew.

**Why a sword? Teeth can kill it as swiftly, and you plan to eat it right away anyway.**

Fenras hesitated, concerned by his thoughts; this wasn't Hircine speaking to him—somehow he knew that—but it was definitely the side of him that connected him to his otherworldly father, something he still wasn't entirely sure he wanted to fully accept. The urge wouldn't go away, however, giving a counterargument to his hesitation.

**You never bother skinning anyway unless there's still room in the cart—you always just tear right in as soon as it's dead. Why not start with that?**

"B-because... because I'm not an animal." His voice was hushed, speaking to himself and the night alone.

**What's wrong with that? They just do what they do to eat. That's all you'd be doing.**

As he saw the goat struggle and cry out in pain, the wave of sympathy across him somehow played into the urge.

**A sword would be just as painful an end for it, no matter how quick. The more you linger, the longer it suffers, and as hungry as you are you're not cruel enough to allow that.**

That thought turned out to be the breaking point as Fenras slowly dropped to all fours, feeling a certain "rightness" as he bared his teeth; before he knew it, he had charged at the goat's neck with inhuman speed and tore it open with his teeth, killing it in seconds. His human reason remained somehow, but at the same time the wilder element seemed to equal it in strength; it was as if a certain balance had been reached within him, something he couldn't help but reflect on as he used his enhanced bite and grip strength to tear open the goat's belly and begin eating.

_Was I worried for nothing? After all, this is what the pack-mother would do when she hunted for meat to give me. I'm just doing it myself now._

Once he had eaten his fill, he looked down at the kill and contemplated further.

_The urge felt so strong back with that bandit; I'll never go _that_ route. But now it feels like it's backed off, like it just needed me to let it loose on _something _to keep it from being uncontrollable. I'm already training to be a hunter... All I did was discover how to hunt with new weapons._

**A hunter. Like father, like son.**

Fenras couldn't help but notice that the thought contained both his voice and Hircine's in perfect unison. In the end, he decided he needed more time to decide whether or not he could truly accept his heritage; he'd know where he belonged someday. Someday, he'd know...


	4. PART 1-3: The Hunted

**A/N:****_I find myself rather enjoying writing this; my jumpchain will probably remain on the backburner until the end of Part 1 of this fic._**

* * *

Dragon Bridge had long been one of the more important settlements in Skyrim; as far back as the mid-Third Era, it had served as something of a suburb of nearby Solitude, as any merchant wanting access to that old city by land had to first go through Dragon Bridge. That being said, its importance yet paled in comparison to its parent city, and since the end of the Third Era and the fall of the last Septim Emperor at the end of the Oblivion Crisis it had fallen on rough times and never quite recovered, merchants that once did business there simply ignoring it for greater profit in Solitude. Until, that is, the aftermath of the civil war; ironically, it had survived relatively untouched by the various crises that had struck Skyrim at the time—the Dragons, the Vampires, the Civil War itself—and so the once-declining village whose only remaining sign of its former glory was the ornate bridge that gave its name had become somewhat of a symbol of strength for the people of Skyrim. As such, merchants no longer simply "passed through" on the way to Solitude without a glance; instead, they invested in the old town, and in a mere two years after the war it had tripled in size, gaining a defensive wall and gates as well as a permanent garrison. Already it was being hailed as a city in its own right, a worthy sister settlement to Solitude; Ivarstead had gained a similar boost due to its association with the hero who had ended both the Dragon and the Vampire crises, but it was Dragon Bridge that rose to quicker prominence with non-Nords. But what mattered most to hunters such as J'Darro and Fenras was its continued humility compared to the big city; Solitude was still a city primarily of noblemen who rarely purchased furs, skins, or meats directly from hunters. Dragon Bridge, on the other hand, still saw itself as a city of commoners whose grit and determination had kept them safe while noblemen cowered, and so had no similar distaste for purchasing "common" goods directly from hunters—particularly because those same nobles who refused to purchase the skins and furs practically stampeded over each other when local craftsmen turned them into fancy clothing. In short, this was often the most profitable stop for J'Darro and Fenras with regards to sales, and they often stayed at least a couple of days there.

"Fear not, good sir; this one's apprentice watches over the stocks. _Ja'Fenras,"_ J'Darro called, turning briefly away from a well-dressed High Elf customer, "how many elks are left?"

Fenras shook his head. "Not many, Master. We're down to five—they've been selling like sweetrolls today."

The customer frowned and crossed her arms. "Hm... I suppose that makes sense. All my customers are practically going mad over elkskin cloaks and such—it seems to be the latest fad. How much for the whole stack of five?"

J'Darro paused as if in deep thought for a few moments before responding. "Ah. Yes, this one can perhaps sell for fifty silvers."

"One whole Septim per skin? I think not," said the customer, huffing with the characteristic Altmer attitude. "fads burn out quickly, you know."

"But burn brightly while they last. Had we known about this before we arrived, we would have hunted more elk; thankfully, we were wise to set the prices higher on them, and one by one the skins vanished!"

The customer had a gleam in their eye at J'Darro's tale. "Wait, so most were not purchased in bulk? Strange..."

"A few asked for two or three, but mostly they sought but one—perhaps we priced them too high. Five Septims is a rather large step down, but this one is eager to unload the rest."

A pause came between the two. Fenras had been observing the conversation carefully, and not simply because he might one day be doing the same; there was a strange sort of thrill to the back-and-forth of haggling, a competitive game where the clever and the quick were champions. Cleverness and quickness were important qualities for hunters to have as well, and something about the nature of it all suddenly reminded him of...

**Hunter by day, hunted by night. The eternal paradox of predator and prey.**

Werecreatures. That was it. Mere days ago, Fenras would have been baffled by how he knew the symbolism of lycanthropes with regards to Hircine, and just the previous night he had been frightened of the strange voice within that was neither his nor that of his father, but a strange union of both; since the incident with the goat, however, he decided to simply see what would happen if he allowed that side of him to comment whenever it felt like it, and soon it felt not unlike having a simple friend speak over your shoulder from time to time. If that friend was also you, but not you at the same time.

Fenras was finding life as a demiprince to be rather confusing, to say the least.

"Three Septims," the customer said, breaking the silence. "That seems fair, does it not?"

"Pardon this one's rudeness, but this one does not regard theft as fair. Four-and-five-silver."

"Three-and-five."

One last pause occurred as J'Darro sighed and clicked his tongue. "Tch. Four Septims is as low as this one can drop the price—we cannot afford to do less, fad or no."

The customer smiled. "Four it is, then. A pleasure doing business with you!"

Fenras carefully stacked the purchased skins and wrapped them up for the customer, who walked away whistling; the moment she was out of sight, he and J'Darro opened the hidden compartment on the cart and pulled out the rest of the elk skins for display.

"How do you do it, Master? I thought for sure she'd figure it out when she asked about the whole 'one by one' thing."

J'Darro smirked. "This one allowed them to think they had uncovered something by 'slipping up'. When this one responded with a believable excuse, their feeling of victory remained, making it easy for this one to lead them."

**Set a trap. Hide. Allow the prey to see you hidden. Give the prey a chance to flee. Chase the prey into the trap. Feast.**

Fenras nodded, both at his Master's words and the helpful summary by his daedric side, putting a complicated subject into terms he understood better. He supposed the notion of comparing everything to hunting made sense; he was a piece of his father given individual will and form, and as his father happened to be the Daedric Prince of the Hunt it was only natural that he would begin to see the world in a similar light the more he accepted that side of himself.

"Truth be told, Master, it's the meats I'm worried for; they're not selling nearly as well as the furs and skins. What if they don't sell out before we leave tomorrow evening? We shouldn't just let them go to waste..."

"Hungry, are you? This one was certain the goat you spoke of had filled you for the day."

"I'm hungry again," Fenras shrugged. It was strange; since the day he learned his father's identity, he had felt hunger more frequently. Before then, eating a whole goat down to the bone would have been enough to practically stretch his stomach, but today it felt more like breakfast than anything else.

"Tch. Very well, _Ja'Fenras. _We have enough remaining; take a few in a sack and eat them in the trees outside the city walls, then come back when you are finished."

Nodding, the boy grabbed a large sack, threw a few sides of venison and rabbit meat in, then walked casually out the city gate; once was outside the walls, he wandered to the nearest secluded wooded area—which conveniently had a small creek nearby—sat on the ground, and began eating the meat, making sure to brush off as much of the salt used to keep it as he could before digging in. A warm feeling in his gut rewarded him whenever he swallowed; idly, he wondered why his appetite had grown and where it might stop.

**It will stop where it will stop. Keep away from..**._what I want to avoid eating..._** but eat. **

_I prefer _**hunting,**_ though.__Ugh, salt...maybe next _**hunting**_ session I could try and see _**if I can hunt without mortal weapons. Tooth and nail.**

The realization that his normal thoughts and his "daedric" thoughts were seeming to drift together and apart in his mind didn't bother him as much as he feared it would; he felt no competition between the two, no attempt by either one to overwhelm the other. Rather, there was a sense of a cooperative balancing act, as if both sides were continuously searching for that brief moment the night before when his thoughts, his daedric thoughts, and those of his father were all in perfect unison.

"Tooth and nail... I guess that would be the next step. But I still want to learn the sword and bow, too."

_Makes sense. _**Hunters **_use the tools they carry with them; _**tooth and claw** _and bow and sword are all equally weapons of _**the hunt.**

Finishing the last bite of raw meat in the sack and wiping his mouth, Fenras leaned over the water in the creek and began lapping it up; once he had his fill, he brushed off his clothes, grabbed the empty sack, and walked back through the gates toward the bustling market...

"Really? I thought they were all wiped out years ago."

"Nah, just biding their time, I bet. My money says they're the real ones who stopped the Vampire plague back then—never believed in all that business about the Dragonborn being involved that, anyway. How much could one man, even one with a dragon's soul, do?"

"Whatever you say. Hard to be 'vigilant' when you're in hiding."

An idle conversation that Fenras paid no mind to suddenly became his entire, horrifying world with one word. A word that stirred both hatred and terror in his heart. A word that brought back memories that threatened to regress him back to the same small, helpless, crying child he had been on that awful night.

_Vigilant. Nonononononono. Please no. Nononononononononononononono—_

"—NO!" His thoughts broke out into a terrified shout, startling onlookers as he rushed back to J'Darro; such was his terror that upon reaching the khajiit in question, he practically tackled him with a desperate hug, struggling to stop the beginnings of tears.

"_Ja'Fenras?_ What is the matter? What happened—"

"Master! They're back! Please help me, they're back and he's out there and he'll hurt me and the fire is burning and..."

_Why am I so _**weak?** _I'm not a little_ **pup anymore, **_I shouldn't be crying and hugging and begging like one. I should be _**hunting them down, one by one until they're all dead.** _Why can't I stop crying?_

J'Darro quickly realized what he was talking about and gave Fenras a pat on the head, speaking softly and calmly. "Hush now, _Ja'Fenras._ It was but a waking nightmare; such is nothing shameful, it is common to many warriors as well—"

The khajiit looked up just in time to see a group of men and women in familiar robes lecturing in the streets, and quickly looked the boy in the eye. "Forgive this one, you were right. We must leave quickly; it is unlikely that they will sense anything truly strange of you simply by being near you, but that chance cannot be taken. Help this one place our wares back on the cart, then conceal yourself in the hidden compartment until this one opens it for you."

Fenras felt the tears continue even as they hurriedly packed, and not even the hidden compartment made him feel safe or concealed from the horrors he knew to be just outside, waiting...

**Hunting** _for me, I'm the_ **prey and** _they'll burn me like her..._

After what seemed to be an eternity of suspense, the compartment finally opened and Fenras found himself once again helplessly collapsing into J'Darro's waiting arms.

"Do not fear, _Ja'Fenras. _We are alone. None can see your tears; you may let them out, _Ja'ma_."

With those words, a floodgate was opened, and Fenras found himself cursing his own weakness as he rapidly became nothing more than a frightened, crying little boy again. He could feel the heat from the flames, hear his mother's screams, see the looks of pure hatred and bloodlust at him as if he were still in that moment; the only thing keeping him remotely in the present day were the warm, furry arms of his Master around him, protecting him from the terrors he thought he had banished. Fenras did not know how long he stood there, crying and trembling, but when the tears finally stopped and his mind returned to reality, he looked up at J'Darro and saw him in a new light.

"Thank you, f—Master."

Fenras knew what he had almost said, but it felt wrong to say it; he had one already, didn't he?

J'Darro had a momentary frown, but it quickly shifted to a warm smile. "Think nothing of it, _Ja'Fenras._ I—this one, told you he would care for you. Now let us return to our travels; we will go South down the road we came. There may yet be game to be hunted there, and if we are lucky we may catch enough furs and skins to sell back in Markarth before the season ends."

_He almost dropped the honorific,_ Fenras realized. Did that mean his Master felt the same way back? Or did J'Darro stop himself because he felt the opposite way?

"Can I... can I go back in the compartment until we camp? Please?"

"Of course, _Ja'Fenras._ This one understands..."

As Fenras lay in darkness, feeling the cart carry him, he began to feel a peace come over him once again.

_THWIPP. THWIPP THWIPP THWIPP THWIPP THWIPP THWIPP._

"AUGH!"

"Die, housecat!"

"Heh, look boys, a fur pincushion!"

"Serves him right, sure looks like the one Malik described. Should've shot this one in the foot first."

The peace was gone, and the terror returned; Fenras could not bring himself to leave the compartment or even make a sound, so paralyzed was he. All he could do was pray that they didn't find him hidden there...

After a few minutes of the cart being jostled around, the voices grew distant; gathering up his courage, Fenras kicked open the door of the compartment and climbed out to see the cart empty, with a few arrows on the sides. The horse was dead, its head nearly chopped off by savage weapon blows to its neck, and nearby...

A bloody form. A furry bloody form, lying on its back near the front of the cart, a number of arrows protruding from its chest.

"MASTER!"

"Hahhh... hgk... _Ja'Fenrasss..._"

Upon closer inspection, the arrows were not the only issue. The awkward bend of his torso and the blood pooling from underneath him said it all: he had shattered his back on the hard cobblestone road when he fell from the seat of the cart. Even without the arrows, there would be no saving J'Darro.

"M-m-master... I-I-I-I'm s-sorry... m-my fault, I t-told you to l-leave th-that bandit from b-before—"

"Ulg... H-hussshhh... _Ja'maaa..._ you did –hlgk– nothing wrrrong... thisss onne... th-thiss... n-no. _I _am sssorrrry, _I_ ffffailled t-to..."

Fenras held J'Darro's hand. "P-please no..."

"Sshh... I go to... hhhhhhunting grrroundsss... ssoon. Y-you... must live... _Ja'ma... Ja'Fenras... Ah'jor..._"

The word rang in Fenras' ears; during his time with J'Darro, he had picked up a smattering of Ta'agra, and though his Master had never used the term, Fenras knew the meaning.

_Ah'jor. Ahziss Jor. 'My son'._

"I... I w-will... I will live. I will survive... _Ahnurr."_

A final smile, warmer and more joyful than Fenras had ever seen. A final purr that shifted to a gurgle.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence... then thoughts of **red.**


	5. PART 1-4: The Hunter of Hunters

Fenras buried J'Darro under a simple pile of rocks, for lack of any fire or digging tools.

_When I'm **done hunting** them, I'll come back and give you something better. _

Standing up from the makeshift grave, the boy grabbed a quiver of arrows, tightened his belt to ensure the sword sheathe was secure, and walked into the nearby forest; J'Darro had taught him a lot about tracking, and those skills were coming in handy.

_Patches of flattened grass where their patrols go; spaces between brush where they cut and push their way through regularly. Marks on trees, all on the Eastern side of the trunks—signs to prevent them from getting lost. Go West, follow the trail. **Hunt them like any other prey.**_

That last thought was a constant in his mind as he followed the hidden trail; as the child of Hircine, hunting was in his blood, a natural part of him. Soon, however, he had somehow lost track of the trail—a testament to his relative inexperience.

"Damn... now what?"

_Maybe lean to the ground and_** _smell them? _**_That's what __**predators** do when tracking **prey.**_

The notion seemed strange at first, but Fenras was not in any mind to reject his daedric instincts—not when every bone in his body demanded blood. Leaning down to the grass, he inhaled deeply... and received a veritable cocktail of smells and scents. To his surprise, he was able to isolate each and every one, interpreting them as easily as reading a book.

_Deer. Elk. Bear. Wolf. Goat... and none of the above._ _That last one has to be human, _Fenras realized; crawling on all fours and occasionally sniffing, he quickly found the direction in which the scent was the strongest. _There. It's faint, but stronger towards the Northwest._

He stood back on two legs, moving as quietly as possible until he found the trail again.

"This really is helping. _Ahnurr..._your lessons and Father's blood... they're leading me to the prey."

Prey. That was the operative word. And like any prey, he'd tear them open, rip them apart and—

_No. Not even them. _**But why not? I hate them, and they deserve it...**_ don't they? NO!_

Suddenly, the thought of truly embracing his blood frightened him; as a result, the balance between the two halves of his mind was shaken, tearing his thoughts this way and that. He shook his head.

"_Ahnurr_ taught me to hunt. I can do it without relying on Father's blood. I can do it... I can do it..."

In spite of his words, his divided mind kept distracting him.

**It's a hunt like any other, **_except they're not animals. _**But they act like animals, so treat them like**_ people or I'll be like them_** except I'll be following my natural instincts and not **_cruelty for the sake of it, _**I hate them and **_it doesn't matter—_

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt his foot sink slightly into the ground.

"Shit."

Next he knew, there was a snapping sound and a sharp tug as part of the ground suddenly lifted up under him, trapping him in a net that quickly closed around him; as he dangled several feet above the ground, his confidence turned to fear and panic, and soon he was thrashing about trying to escape. His efforts were in vain, and before long he heard the telltale sounds of snapping twigs and rustling leaves as two rough-looking men approached.

"Well well, looks like we caught ourselves a runt instead of a deer!"

Fenras twisted his head as best he could to look at the men, his rage combining with his fear as he growled and shouted and thrashed in the net.

"RRAGH! LET ME DOWN YOU BASTARDS! LET ME GO!"

The bandits responded with laughter.

"Ha," the larger one said. "Feisty, isn't he?"

The man's partner gave a cruel smirk. "Come on, let's give him his request—drag him back like a young buck, the boys back at camp ought to get a kick out of this!"

Cutting a rope, Fenras crashed to the ground, still caught in the net; as the two carefully reached in the net and took his sword and bow, he found himself being dragged across the rough ground, his thrashing and squirming only serving to tangle him further, his angry shouts and curses and growls eliciting nothing more than mocking laughter from his captors. The rocks and sticks on the ground cut and scraped him, tearing his clothes and causing his angry shouting to devolve into pleas for release and tears of fear; these too were ignored as fatigue and terrified resignation set in.

_Oh gods, they're going to kill me! I'm going to die! Ahnurr, Father, please, save me!_

His prayers went unanswered. After a period of time that seemed endless, he found himself dragged into a cave full of equally swarthy men; among them was a familiar-looking Redguard with a bandaged leg. Fenras felt his despair deepen at the sight. _It really is my fault... I killed Ahnurr. I really did..._

"What do you know, boys, I think this is the runt traveling with the bastard cat that shot me! Looks like the tables got turned, brat!"

The man knelt in front of him, looking him in the eyes with a hateful glare. "I bet you're angry, huh? Not as angry as I am. You're gonna pay for that arrow, just like that fucking furball."

Fenras could only whimper in terror, a sound that clearly pleased every bandit in the cave as the Redguard stood up and barked an order.

"Toss him in the pit—bet the wolves 're hungry! PLACE YER BETS, BOYS! Let's see how long he lasts before they rip him to shreds!"

He felt himself being lifted in his net and roughly carried over to a fenced-in area with several cages and a very bloody patch of dirt in the middle, the cages filled with snarling wolves. Before he knew it, he was roughly tossed in, the net coming apart as he landed with a hard thud. Groaning in pain, Fenras could only stare in fear as one of the bandits walked behind the cages and pulled a lever connected to a rope that was in turn attached to the cage doors; his tears nearly blinding him, he shut his eyes tight and prepared for the end.

_Nonono... Ahnurr, I'm sorry... I don't want to die..._

He screamed... only for the growls to silence. Fenras opened his eyes, and saw something that shocked him:

_Are they... bowing? Gods, they're bowing._

Fenras' thoughts turned to the dream in which he learned of his heritage.

**They bow to me, pup.**

**You are a piece of my power, given flesh and independent thought by my will.**

_They really do bow to him... and since I'm a part of him, they bow to me._

The bandits could only stare in equal shock before angrily shouting at the wolves. Fenras felt his fear slowly vanish as he approached the predators, reaching out his hand to them.

"You're like me... and I'm like you," he whispered. "You want to be free, too. Together... we actually outnumber them..."

**Hunt the prey. Command the _pack. _**

This time, Fenras would not reject his heritage—because embracing it was the only way to survive. He felt his divided mind merge once again, but this time the union of human and daedric thoughts was as complete as it was the day he devoured the goat.

_**I don't have to eat them... but I can still hunt them. They'll still be prey, and I'm their predator.**_

Feeling strength beyond his size filling him up, his rage further fueling his young body, Fenras roared; the sound unleashed was barely human, and the bandits recoiled in instinctual fear at the noise as the wolves leapt into action. Fenras charged with them, tearing the wooden fence down as easily as ripping apart a sheet of parchment; he saw the bandits move in slow motion, and realized why.

_**They're not slow. I'm fast. Faster than they could ever be. Stronger than they could ever be. Strong enough to...**_

"**RIP YOU ALL TO BLOODY SHREDS!"**

Fenras growled and roared and snarled the same as the wolves, his fingers tearing through armor and into flesh, biting and clawing bandits left and right, dodging arrows and blades alike with ease that would have shocked even him had the adrenaline and pure berserker fury not focused his mind on murdering every single one of them. Spotting his bow and sword nearby, Fenras moved toward the weapons and grabbed them, and with those tools his killing power only enhanced.

_**Cut them down like helpless rabbits. Shoot them like deer. Tear with hand and claw and tooth as you cut with the sword.**_

The wolves, too, moved with speed and strength beyond that which they normally would have been capable of; their fury followed his, as surely as if he were a wolf himself. The bandits regrouped, and even with his speed he felt sudden pain as an arrow nicked his shoulder and a blade cut into his thigh—but the adrenaline pumping through his veins kept him going, and the wolves would toss themselves onto any attacker that would have otherwise landed a killing blow on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Redguard from earlier fleeing in terror; the other bandits screaming as the wolves tore them apart and began to devour them, he was free to give chase. With leaps and bounds and blinding speed, he easily caught up to the hobbling man, tackling him to the ground before straddling him and tearing at his face with his bare hands as the man screamed in pain.

"Please, stop! No! NO!"

Fenras saw the unbridled terror in the man's eyes and paused long enough to glare at the man.

The bandit's face was a bloody mess, yet the horrific disfigurement was not enough to keep the cowardly wretch from stuttering in fear. "Y-y-you c-can't be h-human! W-what in oblivion are y-you? "

"I'm a hunter, like my father. Both of my fathers," Fenras replied, grabbing the man's throat with both hands and leaning in as his voice echoed strangely. **"And you're prey."**

With inhuman strength, he ripped the man's throat open with his bare hands; as he stood up, he felt the red in his thoughts fade, his blood calming and his pounding heart settling to an even rhythm.

**Well done, pup. Well done.**

"...Father?"

He turned toward the mouth of the cave to see a ghostly form that shifted between a stag, a wolf, a bear, a rabbit, and a man.

**You have proven your worth as a part of me, just as I foresaw; you are indeed a hunter—a hunter of men and beasts alike.**

Fenras looked at his victim, then to his bloody hands; a frown crossed his face. He still felt the urge to... devour. A step he would not take, not ever.

"Of men _and_ beasts?... No. At least, not all men."

**Ha. Of course not. Your mortal side will not allow it... but you cannot remain mortal forever, not if you wish to fulfill your destiny.**

Purpose. Something he had never truly known... until now. "Your domain is of the hunt, the way of predator and prey. But you have honor... and so do I. That doesn't go against you or your ways..."

**You have decided who you are.**

Fenras nodded. "I have, Father."

**Then say it.**

"These bastards... they kept those wolves in cages, they never gave their victims a chance to flee. They went out of their way to be cruel to all their victims. They violated the laws of the hunt... so I'll hunt them. I'll hunt anyone who acts like them."

His father nodded at him, and he felt resolution fill his heart. **"I'll be a hunter of hunters."**

* * *

_**Well, that's it for part one; I'm still not entirely happy with the last bit of this chapter, among other things, but for now it's the best I can do. The next part of the fic will skip ahead several years, and Fenras will be dealing with new and different issues regarding is heritage. Until then, please read and review-leave comments if you can, and please go into detail; what did you like or not like? What suggestions can you give that might improve the chapter? Comments and reviews help motivate me and help me improve my writing. In any case, I'll see you next chapter!**_


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